


Play me a memory

by Alphawave



Series: The universe sings [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Violence, Dark, Gen, He is like the second biggest music lover outside of Lucio, He probably knows how to play 'we are number one', Horror, Like he is a piano nerd you cannot tell me otherwise, Sigma goes off the dark side a bit, Sigma knows a lot of piano, Sombra and Sigma kinda know each other but not that well, Well...a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-28 00:23:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20054998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alphawave/pseuds/Alphawave
Summary: Sigma hopes to transcribe the universe's melody, in hopes of awakening his true powers, but gets more than he bargains for when the government facility he has escaped from has found him once again.





	Play me a memory

Play me a memory

Sigma sits in front of a piano. Not the Bechstein studio grand piano that used to sit in his apartment in The Hague but a cheap, upright Yamaha instead. He knows it is old just from the touch, the damp thud of the keys and the slow responsiveness of the pedals. Most aggravating of all is the tuning, the way the notes sound off to his ears. He does not have perfect pitch, and he never will, but if he concentrates hard enough, he can feel the shape of a note. Middle C is a yellow circle, and if he rises it up to a D, it transforms into an orange triangle. He hypothesizes that his abilities over gravity have given him a sensitivity to the electromagnetic waves that make up sound, but he cannot test this without rigorous testing. The beauty of these powers is that there are so many potential experiments and possibilities.

It’s been a long time since he’s played. Or at least, he thinks it’s been a long time. The last time he had touched a piano was one week before he went up to the international space station that caused his accident, but time is no longer linear and memories no longer make sense and he cannot say how many years have already passed since then. Has it been three years or longer? He cannot say.

He very much prefers listening to music rather than playing it, but he does not have that luxury. Talon is many things but it is not a musically inclined organization. His previous request for an parabolic microphone must have fallen upon flat ears for the next day he gets a regular microphone, the kind used for karaoke parties. It didn’t even have the batteries in it. So it is a miracle of sorts that his request for a piano got through. It was probably salvaged from a nearby dump, but it is still in working order, and he is grateful for whatever gifts Talon bestow upon him.

His body suddenly stiffens as he feels a shift in the air. He turns his head slowly, eyes wide as he finds himself staring back into his face. Only it’s not his face but another version of him, decked out in the orange jumpsuit that government facility crafted specifically for him. His copy smirks sinisterly.

_“Gravity is like sanity. All you need is a little push.”_

“W-w-what?”

_“They called the geniuses of old insane back in their times.”_

He is frozen in fear, staring into a face that is his but not his. The other approaches him and places his hands on his shoulders. He can feel the energy being sapped away from his body, his twisted mirror image growing larger, impossibly larger than him. As the energy leaves his body, he can feel his mind clearing. As his mind clears, he can see this twisted alter ego for what it truly is. It is sin, the devil in disguise. And behind that disguise is the black hole that destroyed his career and his mind. And it laughs. It laughs so viciously.

He feels his body suddenly being rattled back and forth, and his mind is clouded once more. The cloned image of him is gone, replaced by an annoyed woman with chocolate skin and purple lips. Her hair is parted to one side, showcasing the cybernetic implants glowing on her skull.

“Are you OK, old man?” She huffs.

Sigma is about to say “no” but he shakes his head and clears himself of the hallucination. It is easier to keep the fractured pieces of his mind together when he has a familiar face by his side. “Y-yes, I’m OK. Sorry if I scared you, Miss Olivia.”

“Ay, don’t call me that. Call me ‘Sombra’ like everybody else.”

“Sorry. I’ll…try and remember for next time.”

“I give myself a cool name and no one takes it seriously anymore,” she mutters to herself. Her eyes fall on the piano. “We have a piano? When’d we get one?”

Sigma smiles, relieved for the change of subject. “I asked Talon to provide it for me. I told them it was necessary for my experiments.” He raises his eyebrows. “I guess you could say this is an _instrument_ in more ways than one.”

Sombra makes a face that is a cross between a cringe and a wince. A lot of people make that face when he tells jokes. So many years later and people still do not appreciate a good pun.

“A-anyway, I had a breakthrough last night,” he continues. “I have harnessed the harness that is gravity, but I have yet to maintain it in whatever shape and form I desire. I was at a roadblock. Then, it hit me! I’ve been thinking about it all wrong, you see. I’ve been trying to use my equations and quantum instruments to further my research, but I’ve yet to use the most important tool at my disposal.” He smiles in excitement. “I’ve got the universe’s melody in my head, playing on repeat. I’ve heard it so many times before, so I must be able to play it in the real world. If my theories are correct, it is as simple as transcribing a piece of music by ear.” He plays a chord and frowns. “Unfortunately, it seems music appreciation does not equate to music composition.”

“Wait wait, so you’re telling me that playing the piano,” she gestures wildly at the object, “is going to help you create a black hole again?”

His eyes brighten. “Yes. That’s precisely it! I knew you would understand.”

Sombra raises her eyebrows in disbelief. Out of all the Talon operatives that Sigma has encountered, she is the least judgmental—or rather, she is the least likely to dismiss his ramblings completely. She can be rather judgmental when she wants to be, often when it comes to Reaper and Widowmaker, but she makes no remarks about him. Perhaps she thinks it is bad taste to make fun of a man crippled psychologically like he is. Or maybe she doesn’t care enough to say anything about it.

He turns back to the piano and starts playing discordant notes. It has been years since he played but he remembers how to lie his hands, where the keys were, how to make his fingers glide over the faux ivory. He’s almost startled by the ease in which he remembers, because he knows he cannot account this for mere muscle memory alone. There are some things people do not forget, he knows that, but it’s unnatural how comfortable he feels in front of the piano.

It’s almost as if he is supposed to be here. Like the universe is calling to him from within the hidden strings. His fingers fly across as if in a trance. He hears the whispering in the air, but he’s not sure if it’s the benevolent universe or the demonic other or some other creature outside the confines of time and space that have decided to play their games with him. He listens and copies their words. A dark expanse of his own creation surrounds him as his eyes turn cloudy.

He hears someone snap their fingers impatiently in his ears, and turns to find Sombra next to him. She looks annoyed but there’s a familiar shimmer of pity in her eyes. It betrays her, just like his mind betrays him.

“Earth to Sigma.”

He winces. “My apologies.”

“I don’t know what goes on inside your head. You have the thingy on. The pedal. You’re pressing on it.”

He glances down at his feet, which are currently covered in pink wooly socks. They are expensive, and currently his only frivolous purchase since joining Talon. He does not remember putting them on, or when he bought them, or why he chose pink of all colours. On closer inspection, he sees that his foot is firmly pressing down on the right pedal.

“Oh,” he says, surprised himself. “So I have.”

Sombra groans loudly. “I don’t know why they tell me to watch you. I just wanna go back to my computer and watch some videos. Play some games. Hack some dudes or something.”

Sigma frowns. “You do not have to supervise me if you don’t want to, Miss Oli—I mean, Sombra.”

“Nah, the boss will kill me if I do that. I gotta make sure you don’t get yourself into danger.” She walks over to the side and leans dramatically over the top of the piano. “C’mon, piano man. Play a song.”

“This piano is for research. It is certainly not to be played with.”

“But I’m so booored.” She rests her head on her arms. “You must know some song, right? Play me one.”

“I shouldn’t…” he begins to say, but his mind is already buzzing with the songs of his past. One sticks with him, imprinted in his soul. A song from his past that spoke of simpler times.

He looks up into her eyes and falls victim for her doe eyes. He takes a deep breath, composes himself as best as he can, and begins to play Erik Satie’s Gnossienne 1.

It’s not long before he gets lost in the melody. Music is a language as easy to speak as English and Dutch. Sentences flow from his fingertips, time condensed into notes and sounds. Dark magic threads and twists from his wrist as gravity lifts up and away from his body. His mind drifts away to become one with the song, splinters of his childhood resurfacing. Images of his piano instructor in his majestic home, stern and imposing. His father falls asleep for the last time in his study, the sky outside the window going from day to night, the stars twinkling in rhythm to the invisible song.

Objects float and fly above him. Particles transform into one-dimensional strings that ascend into higher dimensions. The piano rises with him. There’s a yelp of surprise. “Let me down, let me down!”

His eyes widen as he finally notices Sombra, flailing her arms as she floats helplessly in the air. In that instant the spell is broken and the world returns to clarity. Gravity returns with a shuddering thud as the two of them crash back down into orbit. He is able to land gently. Sombra does not have the same luck.

“D-Dios mio, you’re going to kill me!” She hisses, rubbing her backside painfully. He doesn’t want to tell her how lucky she was. A few centimetres to the right and she would have been trapped under the piano. On one or more occasion, he has commended Talon for having the mindfulness of nailing everything in his lab down. It has prevented more than a few accidents due to his ever shifting powers.

She looks at him sternly, fire in her eyes. He shrinks a little.

“I’ve theorized for a while that my abilities are linked to my mental and emotional state. It seems music is able to amplify my abilities.” Sigma puts his hand on his chin and frowns. “Perhaps later I can determine the source of this ‘amplification’ and utilize it myself. Right now, however, it is an unfortunate complication to my experiments.”

“I’ll say. You’re going to hurt yourself at this rate.”

“I realise that, but I am close, I can feel it.” His hands glide over the dusty top of the piano. “If I can just find the correct song, I might be able to harness the fullest potential of my abilities.”

“Then maybe put the piano in a different room? So you don’t destroy everything in this room if you do find it?” She suggests.

“No, I…it’s better that I am here, where I cannot hurt anyone.”

Death has unfortunately become the new norm in his life. As payment, Talon tasks him with going on missions with their officers, and that often leads to a battle to the death. No one expects an old man like him to fight, and they definitely do not expect to be flung around like paper ragdolls in the wind. It’s frightening how the guilt washes away easier the more blood he must spill. During one such mission, he almost found himself enjoying the violence.

He places his fingers back on the keys. Sombra takes her place in the far corner of the room and watches warily, away from danger. There are no more fluctuations in gravity that day.

* * *

He plays and he plays, morning day and night, but he is no closer to his goal. He has continued his normal experiments, with the piano experiments continuing during his break. He eats and drinks and sleeps, but it is at a bare minimum. Why is it now, when he seeks out the song does it decide to run away? Why is this silence louder than noise, overwhelming him with nothingness? Why is it when his mind has never been clearer does a part of him yearn for the spark of insanity?

There is madness in his actions, but it is controlled and tempered. His equations are correct, as they always have been. He has ripped out a bit of paper to write sheet music on and has done his best to interpret the song. He can only work through sound. If only he knows an expert in music composition, or sound engineering. His understanding of sound is limited to his extensive knowledge of electromagnetic waves. Tonality, timbre, chord structure, they are patterns he hears but does not understand.

It’s late at night but he presses onward. He’s close, so very close, and he must work now while his mind is still whole. The pieces never hold together for this long, and sooner or later it will fracture, but he must press onward while he still has control. He wants to feel normal, and to feel normal is to surround himself in his research, pushing forward to new limits and new heights. The stars call out for his name. First he must understand and master his abilities. Then he can continue his original dream to see the stars outside their humble galaxy and walk on the surface of planets that are not his home.

He doesn’t hear the thudding footsteps approaching in the dead of night. He doesn’t notice the red light on the security camera suddenly go dark or the crack of his lab door breaking open. It’s only when he hears the unmistakable sound of a gun’s safety being taken off that he finally notices that he’s no longer alone. Three men stand before him, each training their guns on him. The sigil of the government facility he escaped from is displayed fully on their uniforms. It taunts him in a way that a gun to the head cannot. His heart leaps out from his chest.

“Subject Sigma,” one of them barks. “Come with us quietly, or we will shoot.”

Despite every instinct in his body, he cannot move. He is frozen in place in front of the piano, trapped, as if he is still tied down to that accursed bed, like his freedom and everything since is a dream he has conjured. He can imagine their hands forcing him into horribly itchy orange jumpsuit, the unprofessional way they injected their sedatives into him, the way they talk about him like he’s beneath humanity, a hideous creature without thought or intelligence.

“Didn’t you hear what he said?” A second soldier growls. “Get a move on!”

His eyes glance around, desperate for a way to escape, but there is none. The exits are watched by more soldiers. The very safety features within this room, designed to minimize the harm he can cause with his powers, are now the portents of his doom. In this section of Talon’s HQ, no one will hear him if he screams, and even if someone does, he will have less than a second before he’s shot dead. He might be able to block or absorb most of the bullets, but it will be futile. It will buy him seconds, maybe a minute. It’s not enough.

Even the voice that screams for violence in his ear is unnaturally quiet. It knows that taking the offensive will not help them survive in this situation. They’re trapped.

The third man steps forward, a curious smile spreading across their face. He orders the other men to stand down. As Sigma watches, he sees that this man is not dressed like the others. He wore glasses over his eyes instead of the tactical masks everyone else did, and his uniform has the markings of a combat medic rather than a soldier.

“It’s good to see you again, Siebren.”

The realization floods him with a feeling of terror but he hides it behind his gritting teeth. This is the doctor that was in charge of him back then. This was his torturer above torturers, Satan amongst the demons. “Dubrovnik,” Sigma spat.

“You’ve done well for yourself, haven’t you? A nice fancy lab, some powerful friends on your side,” His eyes glance down. “Loving the socks. Really sells the old man look.”

“What do you want?”

“To finish my job, and that is to keep you contained,” Dubrovnik said.

“You cannot stop progress.”

“You are a threat to humanity.”

“I am in control.”

“Until when?!”

Sigma stiffens. Dubrovnik puts his gun away and approaches slowly, the hunter coming to collect his prize. Sigma doesn’t react when Dubrovnik tugs his chin forward, jerking his head up to look into those cold, black eyes. Dubrovnik is significantly shorter than him, but in his seated position, their heights are roughly equal. It’s a frighteningly familiar feeling, being manhandled like this, like he is just a piece of trash on the ground.

He wants to choke him, make him suffer, make him hurt in all the ways he has been hurt, but he can’t and Dubrovnik knows this. Dubrovnik relishes in it. He was, and still is, a sadist.

“Out of the oven and into the fire, right, Siebren?”

“What are you talking about?” He rasped.

“You don’t know what Talon is?”

“They saved me!”

“You never thought why?” Dubrovnik’s lips curl. “I’ll tell you why. It’s because they want a weapon. They want Excalbur, and you happen to be the one who pulled it out of the stone. They want war, Siebren, they don’t care about you. As soon as they can wield Excalibur for themselves, they will throw you away like trash. And when they have Excalibur, no one will be able to stop them. They are terrorists. You know this.”

He wants to tell Dubrovnik that he’s wrong, that Talon is an organization of intelligent men and women who want to help humanity take the next big step, but he sees the heat in Dubrovnik’s eyes and he cannot help but take pause. Dubrovnik truly believes this. But why? He is needed, he is important. They will not go through the trouble of saving one man unless he’s important. They have been so kind to him, provided so much for him. They will not abandon him…right?

Dubrovnik takes a step back, Sigma rubbing his neck self-consciously. He’s not sure he imagines it but there’s a flicker in Dubrovnik’s eyes, almost like he pities him.

“If you come with us, we will help you subdue these powers. No one will hurt you or use you. I promise.”

“How can you promise that, you Croatian hypocrite?” Sigma snarls.

“Because no one should wield the powers you wield. Not you. Not Talon. No one.”

Dubrovnik puts his hand out and Sigma is left dazed. He glances around at the guards, emotionlessly watching the exchange. As far as Sigma can tell, Dubrovnik is sincere. And that terrifies him, because Dubrovnik knows something he doesn’t. About Talon, probably.

Sigma realizes in that moment how little he knows about Talon. All he knows is that they support cutting edge research, and have a private military to protect themselves. What is Talon’s goal? Why did they bother with an old man like him? 

He almost reaches for that hand, but Dubrovnik’s form swirls and shifts and suddenly his mirror image is standing there, orange jumpsuit and bitter smile and all.

_“Will you really submit yourself to him again?”_

“What else can I do?”

_“You know what to do.” _

The mirror image gestures behind Sigma, pointing at the piano. His skin pales.

“I-I can’t. I need to hold it together.”

_“A little push_,” they say as Dubrovnik appears once again from the smoke. The mirror image is no more.

“If you’re done with your muttering, would you kindly come with me, Siebren?”

Sigma turns back to the piano, his eyes wide. He can hear the melody again. The universe is speaking for him again. It asks him to play its song. It shows him the chords. It tells him the price it will wreak upon his mind.

It’s a price he is willing to pay this time. He turns around and opens the lid for the piano.

“What are you doing?” Dubrovnik asks.

“Let me play one more song before I go,” he says. “It’s my final request.”

He sees the blank faces looking at him in the reflection of the lacquered wood. In the darkness he finds his place on the faux ivory easily. He presses his foot lightly down on the pedal, spreads his fingers on the keys, and pushes his fractured mind off the cliffside. With perfect precision he plays a song of his own creation, a tribute to the song the universe sings.

Memories of his past resurface. The bitter judgment of his academic rivals, the callous disregard of his piano instructor, the stars in the sky, the sorrow of losing his home, the rage of knowing no one cared enough to find him. Dark emotions coalesce into space as gravity releases itself from its chains, sending everyone in the lab flying. There’s screams and shouts as guns are ripped from people’s grasps. Dubrovnik is saying something to him. A plea, a beg, something along those lines, but all Sigma can see is the cosmos expanding, with him at the epicenter. He’s no longer playing the piano; gravity is doing the work for him. He flies above everyone else, his hand outstretched. With every bit of himself he loses, he gains control. The dark voice in his brain laughs in murderous glee.

“D-d-don’t do this, Siebren, please! You’re better than this! You’re not a murderer!”

Alarms are going off above his head, painting the room a bright red. People are holding onto each other, trying to hold on. They know what is coming before he does. Despite the chaos and turmoil before him, he is strangely at peace. The universe sings its lullaby to him from the piano. There is no time signature, no bars, no rhyme or reason. It should not work, but it does.

A placid smile escapes his lips as he brings everyone crashing down. The crunch of broken bones is followed shortly by the bellows of pain. The dark voice takes over, grabbing one of the guns, still hovering up in the air. He shoots—not accurately, but he shoots. There is silence, save for the klaxon above his head and the whimper of one more person.

Dubrovnik crawls towards the door, broken. His left shin bone is sticking out from his pants, trailing blood. Sigma calmly floats forward, the dark voice in control as he pushes the might of gravity upon Dubrovnik’s head. There’s a gasp of air, and then the crunch of bone, and finally a squish. Red liquid oozes out of every hole of Dubrovnik’s head.

It’s not long before Talon realizes the reason for the breach in their HQ. Reaper and Widowmaker are the first ones there, guns at the ready. They round the corner to Sigma’s office down, ready to fight, only to discover the aftermath of a bloodbath. The entire lab is splattered in crimson, dead bodies lying in crooked angles and twisted postures. A pile of guns are stacked in one corner, all crushed and broken. By the door, a man's head looks to have been squeezed together.

Sigma sits alone on the piano stool in front of the cheap, upright Yamaha piano. He is perfectly clean, as is the piano. As they tiptoe over the bodies, careful to not step on the blood, Sigma turns to them with a stern but relaxed expression.

“You’re late,” he says, before waving dismissively. “It’s fine, though. I handled it. I think I even learned a new trick or two.”

If Reaper is not wearing his mask, they would see his mouth open and shut. He’s speechless.

“Since you’re here, how about a song?” Sigma cracks his knuckles and places his fingers on the keys. “How about ‘Piano Man’ by Billy Joel? An old classic.”

No one says anything. Reaper and Widowmaker stand there while Sigma plays and sings along from memory. They do not move. Their eyes are concentrated on the swirling dark energy hovering over the piano, bopping in tune to the beat of the song.

**Author's Note:**

> Songs referenced in this fic are Erik Satie's 'Gnossienne 1' and Billy Joel's 'Piano Man' (the latter of which, I stole the fic's title from). Listen to them, why don't you? I think they fit Sigma's character well.


End file.
